


Cacophony

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drarry, I Don't Know Where This Is Going, Multi, Not Epilogue Compliant, Time Travel, all books, bear with me XD, first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco's time stream gets seriously messed up.      Ser i ous ly      m ess ed       up.<br/>(by BTW which are my initials, btw. oh! the puns.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sunlight Was Gleaming (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I won't say much because this chapter is already pretty short but THANK YOU for reading this(!) and I hope you enjoy it! I have no beta, so all spelling/plot mistakes are mine so please tell me if something's wrong and I'll fix it! This is my first fic so take pity on an amateur author! Alright, I'll delay you no longer.  
> disclosure: as I'm sure you've figured out, none of this belongs to me. I wish.

“Damn, Draco, I can’t stop staring at you,” Harry grinned sheepishly peering at Draco’s new outfit. The tuxedo only seemed to profess his curves more, and his hair only seemed paler.

 

“You like it, scarhead?” Draco’s smirk curved up for a moment before he leaned over the kitchen counter and kissed Harry bashing their heads together. Harry’s tongue pushed inside of Draco’s mouth, and Draco was grasping for his hair, pulling on Harry’s dark locks, and they held on for awhile with their lips together.

 

“Mmm,” Harry smiled, pulling away, “I love it. You look just like James Bond.”

 

“I was going for the spy look,” Draco pouted but Harry could tell he was secretly pleased.

 

“Well, you have the ministry in your hands, so all your worrying was for no good reason. Didn’t I tell you?” Harry laughed.

 

“No need to brag. I knew it all along,” Draco laughed and leaned in to kiss Harry again but missed his lips and his lips moved down to Harry’s neck biting Harry’s tanned skin claiming ‘mine, mine, mine’. Harry leaned his head onto Draco’s shoulder and smelt Draco’s cologne that had become so familiar.

 

“Alright,” Harry murmured, “come home before seven and I’ll make you dinner.” Draco’s head had mimicked Harry’s, nestled against his neck, “Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

 

They held each other for awhile, but for the second time, reluctantly pulled away as the clock struck eight. Draco looked wistfully at Harry and said clearly, “Ministry of Magic!” before disappearing in a blaze of green flames. Harry couldn’t pretend his stomach turned as he watched Draco leaving him.

 

Draco had joined the Unspeakables after he graduated from Hogwarts, and Harry couldn’t help seeing Draco leave without wondering if he would ever see him again. Now Draco was an ‘independent contract lawyer’, a title pretentious enough for the git, Harry laughed, and he spent his days ‘defending the innocents’ and ‘doing right in the world’. Saving people who couldn’t save themselves, Harry thought that this was Draco’s way of trying to save his Hogwarts self. Or at least trying to make up for it.

~

Harry paused a moment, and then realized he should probably be heading to work as well, even if his hours were a bit more flexible. He crouched in the fireplace and said, “Quality Quidditch!” He felt a bit nauseated, as he always did while flooing, and entered the backroom of the shop, filled with unopened boxes of wands and polishing kits, and all he could smell was wood and sweat and he broke out into a grin. The new Firebolt 1000s had been released, and their shop had been consumed with preorders and related merchandise.

 

“Harry, thank God you’re here,” Colin burst into the store room, his arms filled with broom parcels. “Marissa brought over a case of Fire Perfumes and asked if we were interested in selling them? For the one thousand, of course.”

 

“Perfumes? Who does she think is buying these perfumes?” Harry laughed, helping Colin sort the brooms.

 

“Harry,” Colin said a bit exasperated, and Harry could just _sense_ the eyeball implied, “you know girls do play quidditch, right?”

 

“Err… right. And they’ll buy perfume for it?” Harry looked concerned.

 

“Right. You’ve just reminded me why _I_ am in charge of merchandise,” Colin grinned, putting away the last broom and brushing off his cargo pants that were covered with the sawdust on the floor. “Now, you will bring Draco for the opening reception, right? I mean, I don’t want to pressure you two but-“

 

Harry cut off Colin’s babbling, “Yeah, I’ve already asked him. Don’t want a repeat of last time.” The details went unsaid because for the Firebolt 900 Harry had been assaulted by a crowd of leering girls, one, Harry was sure, was a veela. At least Colin had ordered decent champagne, but Harry was thinking if that happened again he’d need a vodka to wash down the bad memories.

 

“Alright, I’ll take the shift until eleven and then I’ve got the class with the ten-year-olds,” Harry listed to Colin.

 

“Correct,” Colin beamed and thumped Harry on the back. “I’ll be back to run the shop at twelve, I’m going to talk to Marissa. Don’t mess anything up.”

 

“No promises,” Harry smirked as he left the storeroom and went out to the counter, and poked the tall and skinny man taking an order for a servicing kit. “Hey Jimmy,” he smiled after he handed the girl the ornate box she had wanted.

 

“Harry! Taking over?” Jimmy smiled back.

 

“Yeah, just for the hour. Then Colin is coming back-“ Harry started.

 

“—-and then at three I’m finishing the day. I know, he briefed me on the schedule already,” Jimmy laughed. Peakes had been a great addition to the team, it had turned out he and Colin were friends since they had been in the same year in Hogwarts and both were enthusiasts for Quidditch. Colin had never made the team but loved to photograph the players, and Jimmy had made the team when Harry was captain, and he was always grateful to Harry for ‘giving him his big break’.

 

Harry grinned as Jimmy left, and sat down in the chair propped up near the cash registry. The shop was unusually empty, so he took out his crumpled issue of ‘Quidditch Through The Ages’ and flipped to his favourite passage about the start of it all. He looked up from the page as the bell rang. He stood up, as was company policy and quickly put the book in the drawer of quills.

~

He looked and he saw the polished form of Pansy Parkinson. Black hair cut at an angled bob, only making her prominent jawbones sharper, if that was possible. Her nose had remained turned up as if she was disgusted with the world but the end was pointy and her eyebrows turned down, just like her mouth. She was wearing a black dress that showed more cleavage then Harry needed to see, and black stockings that made her petite figure seem a bit more… leggy.

 

“Giving me the look over, Potter?” Pansy asked, amused. “I’ll tell Draco. He’ll be jealous.” She smiled cruelly, and leered closer to Harry, winking obnoxiously. Her perfume was heavy, something offensively sweet with a mix of smoke and pepper. Harry felt dizzy, and said coldly, “Parkinson. What do you want?”

 

“Wrong question, Potter.” She leaned to the side, her eyes rolling.

 

“Damn, Parkinson, you’re drunk. Harry looked as shock as she made her way to the floor, panting.

 

“Not drunk, a bit, worse,” Pansy giggled, “but it’s-it’s kay Potty. I’m getting the scoop for the prophet,” she whispered.

 

“Damn,” Harry said again. “We need to get you to the hospital.” He bent over to Pansy, pulling her limp body up and cradling her curves in his arms. Suddenly, Pansy straightened out and pushed him down until he was on the floor. Harry was stronger than Parkinson, but she had surprised him. He stared at her alert figure, dumbfounded for a second, before she spoke.

 

“Potter, you are an idiot. Always have been. Goodbye.” She smiled and pressed her wand against his heart.

 

“Wh-what-no-Par-“ but his protests were cut off by a soft incantation from her lips, “ _Cacophonia_.”

 

Suddenly, it felt like Harry’s life flashed in front of him, everything he had ever experienced, everyone who was dead, everyone he loved, Draco, and it was all washed away with flames. Was he stuck in the floo? No, the flames were purple, not green.

 

And all he heard was Pansy’s spell: Cacophonia, was it? He had never heard of it before, but Parkinson was into dark and experimental magic. He wouldn’t put it past her to have had made the spell up just to see what it did. She had never liked Harry, especially after he started dating Draco. Her head still filled with prejudices as if they were still Hogwarts students battling for house points, she had left Draco and Harry well enough alone.

Harry opened his eyes, and thought he might be insane, because it seemed like he had heard Hagrid's voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short but I'm going to post the next chapter very soon and it needed the cliffhanger anyway?! Thanks for putting up with it and please please please review because this is the first thing I've posted and may die from no motivation if there are no reviews. Seriously, tell me you hated it if you want but reviews are like chocolate to me.


	2. Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future Harry, Meet Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relatively quick new chapter? Thanks for reading, and thanks for the kudos @indigoprinceofslytherin @isolated-granger and @chan_to_the_ho (curseofpandora) (dunno how tags work, if they work, on ao3)  
> Thanks for the comment @daughterjudy, I hope you like it? It's not totally AU except for the drarry and the time travelling thing which I guess makes it... totally AU. I should probably tag that.  
> Thank you for the review @cardigansarepunkrock, that totally made my day!  
> Also thank you @indigoprinceofslytherin for your review, I am plotting away!  
> Also on tumblr thanks sm to @follow-the-bvtterflies for the suggestion to cut out Pansy's monologue.

It was Hagrid’s voice. Hagrid was walking besides him, and they were in… Diagon Alley? But Hagrid was… dead. Died in the third Death Eater outcropping, in Harry’s fifth year as an auror. How could…? He looked down at himself and saw he was a midget and was in Dudley’s old clothes. Damn. It was Parkingson’s spell wasn’t it? It either produced weird hallucinations, replayed memories like a pensive, or Harry actually had been sent back in time to his first year. It’s not like he could forget it.

"Might as well get yer uniform," Hagrid was saying, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Harry gazed around the street, just as in awe as he was the first time he saw it.

"Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He looked just as sick as he was all those years ago.

“Sure,” Harry said, trying to be carefree but his stomach was knotting. This was the first time he had seen Draco. His Draco. Should he play along and go with Draco? If he did, he was sure to lose Ron and Hermione. He knew the right thing to do was to act like he was eleven again, and go on pretending to hate Draco. Whenever the curse broke, at least this Harry? was it his time stream or an alternate universe? would grow up the same and end up with the happy ending Harry was staring to take for granted. Harry was feeling as sick as Draco. He opened to door to the shop that was draped in purple and pink clothes.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. He wanted to say that he knew her, that Christine was like a grandmother to Harry, wanted to greet her as cheerfully as he did when he visited her, which was quite often, saying ‘Madame Christine, I brought you lunch.’ 

She would beam at him and offer to split the sandwich while gently protesting, “You can just call me Christine, ‘Arry. There is no need for such formality.’ But Harry knew she loved it.

”Got the lot here -- another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. " Harry winced. In the back of the shop, Draco, just as beautiful as ever, but young, his hair slicked back and shorter than Harry remembered, was standing on a footstool while a second unfamiliar witch pinned up his long black robes. 

Madam Christine stood Harry on a stool next to him slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length. "Hello," said Draco, "Hogwarts, too?" Harry felt sick, wanting to kiss Draco, tell him that he loved him. Instead, he went with his instincts. ”Yes," Harry said simply. 

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," Draco said. Harry smiled even though he couldn’t stand that this adorable Draco wasn’t his Draco. He spoke in a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." 

"Have you got your own broom?" Draco went on. This was when, Harry remembered, Draco had sneered at his lack of knowledge about Hogwarts. Now that Harry thought back to the fuzzy incident, they didn’t even introduce each other until they met again, in Hogwarts. God, how long was this going to last? Was he going to have to go through a year of fighting and pretending to hate Draco? Call him Malfoy?

“Not yet,” Harry smirked, answering the question.

"Play Quidditch at all?" Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. Harry could recognize the expression, a mixture of boredom and disgust.

“I’m going to try for seeker,” Harry smiled, knowing already that he would be on the team. Maybe there was a benefit of knowing the future.

"Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?" Draco asked.

“Yeah,” said Harry, and on an impulse added, “Can’t decide if I prefer Gryffindor or Slytherin.” He had already gone through classes as a Gryffindor. He didn’t need to repeat the same life. This was a chance to try different choices, maybe, maybe save the people he had lost. He bit his cheek. Hagrid was safe here, maybe he could keep people close to him, protect them. 

“The thought of Gryffindor drives me to despair, you better be a Slytherin. I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been -- imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" Harry winced again, reminding himself this wasn’t his Draco, the one that renounced his families ways and worked to protect muggleborns.

”Hufflepuffs are nice,“ Harry said, distracted. He knew Madame Christine was almost done with his fitting and said quickly, “Hey. I’m Harry Potter, yes I know, that one, but really it’s all crap what you’ve been taught. I was brought up by muggles but I just want to get away from them if you know what I mean? I’m halfblooded, if that’s what you’re worrying about. Err… want to be friends?” He realized he was babbling, and put his hand over his mouth. Draco snorted.

“The Harry Potter? Pleasure. I’m Draco Malfoy. Burgh,” he made some incomprehensible noise, “I can’t stand the thought of being brought up by muggles.”

“They’re not really that bad,” Harry said quickly, thinking of Hermione’s parents.

“They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families.” Draco said primly.

“Well, everyone has different opinions,” Harry said politely, trying to restrain himself from saying anything more.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in. 

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, wearily. "He works at Hogwarts."  
"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?" "He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He couldn’t remember why he had fell for Draco, eleven-year-old Draco was a prat and a piece of work at that. 

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage -- lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed." 

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly. “He’s the first wizard I met and gave my awful relatives a fright.”

"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. “Well, you’ll find better wizards out there, I’m sure,” he continued loftily. “Although, I would’ve paid to see him scare the muggles. They’re even worse, aren’t they? What did he do?” Harry was about to answer, but remembered that Hagrid was still not technically allowed to do magic and didn’t trust this version of Draco. this-Malfoy. Yes, that’s what he would call him, because ‘this version of Draco’ was awfully wordy, even in his head. 

Madam Malkin said quickly, "That's you done, my dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to not answer Malfoy’s question, hopped down from the footstool. "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please leave a review?! I am just a poor author who need reassurance that my writing isn't all that awful. And yes I did steal a lot of quotes from HP&SS but I want it to be canon compliant at first until future Harry makes more independent choices.  
> Thank you @bezocr for reviewing on tumblr, I replied over there but thanks again! <3


	3. Living Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter :D I am just in a writing mood I guess? Sorry, I think the frequency is off putting, but I'm just published them as soon as I write them since I don't have a beta or anything to look at them.  
> Thank you @empress-of-books for the kind review!

_D'you think we should wake him up?" Ron asked awkwardly, nodding towards Professor Lupin. "He looks like he could do with some food."_

 

_Hermione approached Professor Lupin cautiously._

 

_"Er -- Professor?" she said. "Excuse me -- Professor?"_

 

_He didn't move._

 

_"Don't worry, dear," said the witch, as she handed a large stack of cauldron cakes. "If he's hungry when he wakes, I'll be up front with the driver."_

 

_"I suppose he is asleep?" said Ron quietly, as the witch slid the compartment door closed. "I mean -- he hasn't died, has he?"_

 

_"No, no, he's breathing," whispered Hermione, taking the cauldron cake Harry passed her._

 

_He might not be very good company, but Professor Lupin's presence in their compartment had its uses. Mid-afternoon, just as it had started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window, they heard footsteps outside in the corridor again, and their three least favorite people appeared at the door: Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle._

 

_Draco Malfoy and Harry had been enemies ever since they had met on their very first journey to Hogwarts. Malfoy, who had a pale, pointed, sneering face, was in Slytherin house; he played Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team, the same position that Harry played on the Gryffindor team. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to exist to do Malfoy's bidding. They were both wide and muscly; Crabbe was taller, with a pudding-bowl haircut and a very thick neck; Goyle had short, bristly hair and long, gorilla arms._

 

_"Well, look who it is," said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door. "Potty and the Weasel."_

 

Suddenly, Harry felt sick. Was it just looking at Malfoy or was it the feeling of dread in his stomach that came with everything that had happened over the summer? The fact that everything else could change but Malfoy would still be a bloody prat?

 

His headache became worse when he saw flames of purple fire. _It was strange, it was almost like the floo powder._ He heard Malfoy shouting, “Potter! Potter, _are you okay?_ ”

 

He was dreaming, he knew it. He didn’t want to open his eyes to see Malfoy bullying him again. It was exhausting. Malfoy’s voice was odd, though. Had someone slipped him a potion? Everything sounded deeper, older.

 

“Is he going to be alright? He was stirring!” He heard Malfoy saying furiously. Of course, the prat just didn’t want to responsible for Harry’s death, only because he didn’t want to be expelled. Malfoy was so selfish and irritating all the time. He still felt kind of wobbly.

 

“He’ll be just fine,” Harry heard a cross voice, “anyone would feel this way after being attacked like that. He needs to recover.” Had Malfoy stunned him? Harry felt awful, he had just felt so off.

 

“That cow,” he heard Malfoy’s voice, “she had some nerve!” Who was it? Hermione? Harry’s eyes stayed jammed shut.

 

“Miss Parkinson is headed towards Azkaban, or at least probation,” the female voice said again, reassuringly. “Now, I need to check Mr. Potter’s bandages.” Harry heard her coming closer, and worked it out. She was a nurse. He was in a hospital? Not the infirmary, that wasn’t Madam Pomfrey. If it was St. Mungo’s, that meant it was serious. And Pansy had attacked him. He hadn’t even seen Pansy! And why was Malfoy calling Pansy a cow?

 

Harry opened his eyes before the nurse got to him with the bandages. “Malfoy?” He said weakly. Malfoy was older, a man? It was definitely Malfoy, he had the pale skin and pointy chin, the jawline, but was tall, and skinny. His blond, almost white hair was brushed to the side with an unusual restraint on the amount of gel used. He was wearing a fitted blue suit over a loose white button top. His jeans were black, and, Harry winced, tight. There was no question. Malfoy was _old_.

 

Then Harry looked down at himself. If he had thought Malfoy was good-looking (had he thought that?) he was fit. He had abs an tanned skin, and his fingers were calloused and brought compared to Malfoy’s smooth skin, only tarnished with pale scars. He was tall too, he couldn’t tell if he was taller than Malfoy because he was lying down.

 

“Sweetheart!” Malfoy cried out, and walked over to Harry, kissing (Kissing? This was a nightmare. Maybe a hallucination.) his lips. Malfoy looked at Harry, concerned, and tried to slip his tongue into Harry’s mouth. This was all so gross. Harry pulled away, shuddering.

 

“Malfoy?” he said, in awe.

 

“Maybe this isn’t the best time…” the nurse said, coming over from her tray of bandages.

 

“No,” Malfoy pushed the nurse aside, “this is most definitely the time. Harry, what the hell did Pansy do to you? You haven’t called me Malfoy since you were an auror!” He crossed his arms, and stared down at Harry, his blond eyebrow cocked.

 

“I was…an auror?” Harry wondered out loud.

 

“A memory charm, was it? She made you forget everything… that bitch!” Malfoy started pacing, “but since when?”

 

“I really-“ the nurse started.

 

“-should be going,” Malfoy cut her off. That was why his voice was deeper. He seemed to command the room, just as arrogant as ever, Harry thought ruefully.

 

“If you wish,” the nurse said curtly.

 

“Look, I’m really okay, alright?” Harry almost shouted. He was angry, where _was_ he? It had to be Voldemort. Some secret plan, just like that stupid diary last year. He had to stupidly ruin Harry’s life every year, didn’t he? 

 

The nurse, shocked at this outburst, left the room quietly.

 

“What do you remember?” Malfoy said gently, sitting down on the bed, the prat looked like he wanted to kiss Harry again. Harry wanted to punch him. It was just _wrong_ , anyway. Even if he liked Malfoy (which he didn’t!) Malfoy was still old here, in his thirties or forties. It was weird, the way the wrinkles crept into his face without you noticing them until he was right next to you. And Harry still felt like a thirteen year old.

 

“I was in the compartment with Ron and Hermione,” Harry recalled, humoring this messed up version of Malfoy, “and you and Crabbe and Goyle came in and insulted Ron and I!” Harry remembered, “And then there was this fog of purple flames?” He looked crossly at Malfoy, “Why am I even telling you this, you bloody prat?”

 

“Damn,” Malfoy bit his lip. Harry’s stomach lurched, but he was lying down and Malfoy was peering over him. Punching him would really not help the situation, despite Harry being tempted to.

 

“Wait,” Malfoy continued, “what year were we in? I’m pretty sure that happened _every_ year we were in Hogwarts.”

 

“You _git_.” Harry frowned, “third year.”

 

“Ah, yes,” Malfoy smiled (it was creepy!), “the year Harry Potter escaped the law, yet again. Also known as the year he bloody ignored me until I ran onto the quidditch pitch in a dementor costume.” He smiled, obviously absorbed in a memory.

 

“Malfoy? I don’t even know what a dementor is! If this is some sort of joke,” Harry threatened, tensing.

 

“No, look, Potter,” Malfoy winced, “would it help you if I called you that again? You just have to realize that Pansy, for some god-awful reason, erased twenty-three years of your life.”

 

“I’m thirty-six?” Harry yelped.

 

“Err… yes. You certainly remind me of thirteen year old Harry though,” Malfoy mumbled. “The purple flames you saw were probably an effect of her memory spell. Where your memories end or something. You know Pansy, always wanting to test her new spells,” he laughed and paused, as Harry looked at him blankly.

 

“Right. You don’t know.” Malfoy looked curiously back at Harry. “I really can’t deal with this,” he gritted his teeth. “We have the ball tonight, and no one knows when they’ll catch Pansy, they never have before, so really there isn’t a large chance of breaking the curse outright…”

 

“Wait,” Harry held up a hand, “I get it that this is some future, and,” he felt his stomach lurch again, “and I’m what? dating you? but you can’t expect me to go to a ball!” He looked aghast.

 

“We’re married, actually,” Malfoy said crossly, holding up his ring finger. Harry looked at his, and saw a thin silver band wrapped around it. “And we have to go to this ball, and you have to make a good impression because it’s important, and when you get your memory back you will never forgive me if we skip it.”

 

Harry looked at him, still distressed, not paying attention really to what Malfoy was saying, “But I’m not gay! And I can’t dance!”

 

“Oh please, Potter,” Malfoy spit out the name, “everyone knows it, your thinly concealed disguise of straightness fooled no one. And you _can_ dance, I taught you. I doubt a simple memory charm will erase the hours of work I spent teaching you,” he looked cross. “So the important part is, that at this ball that goes on in,” he glanced up at the clock, “five hours, you learn everything you need to know so people believe you really are Harry Potter.”

 

“Um, alright?” Harry said weakly.

 

“What did I say to you in Madame Malkin’s?” Malfoy said suddenly.

 

“Err, that your father expected you to get onto the house quidditch team? And how some families were better than others. You also told me Hagrid was a savage, I think,” Harry frowned.

 

“Right, just checking you aren’t Pansy in polyjuice,” Malfoy smiled. “Now, since I know you _very well_ , Harry darling,” the sweetness in his tone repulsed Harry, “I know that this may possibly be living hell for you. However, for just three hours, at least, you need to pretend that you love me. Now, let me tell you everything that happened since third year.”

 

Malfoy cleared his throat, and Harry knew his stomach wasn’t going to feel any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> liberal use of quotes from prisoner of azkaban. i'm just putting out a general warning now that I'm stealing lots of quotes from JK's books. Which I assume you've read and enjoyed, because otherwise why are you here?
> 
> please please review!!! I promise you I will love you forever.


	4. Chocolate and Coincidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has happened in Harry's third year, since third year Harry is occupied with all grown up (!) Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much @delivertohogwarts for your review on tumblr! I'm glad you liked it, even if you don't ship drarry!  
> I'm afraid there are mild hints of harry/hermione in this chapter and I dunno if they'll develop to anything, but I'm listing it in the tags regardless.  
> @Indigoprinceofslytherin your comments have made my day, thank you *blushes*. They're really encouraging especially because I'm just starting out at this fanfiction thing XD

 

Harry, feeling dazed, blinked once, as Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly in front of him. Merlin’s Pants! This was some curse from Voldemort, or just his worse nightmare.

 

"I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley," said Malfoy. "Did your mother die of shock?"

 

Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks's basket to the floor. Professor Lupin gave a snort.

 

"Who's that?" said Malfoy, taking an automatic step backward as he spotted Lupin. Harry was wrong, he shook his head as the scene played out. It wasn’t a nightmare, it was a memory. 

 

He recalled exactly what had happened, and as if he was being controlled, said the exact thing he had said three years ago, "New teacher.” Harry got to his feet, too, listlessly, in case he needed to hold Ron back. "What were you saying, Malfoy?"

 

Malfoy's pale eyes narrowed; he wasn't fool enough to pick a fight right under a teacher's nose.

 

"C'mon," he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared, exiting the carriage.

 

Harry and Ron sat down again, Ron massaging his knuckles.

 

"I'm not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year," he said angrily. "I mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I'm going to get hold of his head and --"

 

Ron made a violent gesture in midair.

 

"Ron," hissed Hermione, pointing at Professor Lupin, "be careful..."

 

But Professor Lupin was still fast asleep.

 

The rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north; the windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered into life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks. The train rattled, the rain hammered, the wind roared, but still, Professor Lupin slept.

 

Harry sat quietly, trying to figure out his situation. At first he was surrounded by purple flames, that oddly reminded him of the floo flames, and then he was here. He was going shopping, with Ron and Hermione. He had stepped into Madame Malkin’s, seen Malfoy, and then this fiasco happened.

 

"We must be nearly there," said Ron, leaning forward to look past Professor Lupin at the now completely black window.

 

The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down. Harry felt sick. He remembered the train clearly. The dementor would be coming any second, now. He took out his wand, and peered down. He was short, his growth spurt took place next year, he remembered ruefully. His hair was curlier and his hands were younger, he was a bit paler and a bit thinner.

 

"Great," said Ron, getting up and walking carefully past Professor Lupin to try and see outside. "I'm starving. I want to get to the feast..."

 

"We can't be there yet," said Hermione, checking her watch.

 

"So why're we stopping?"

 

All of third year came back to him. Sirius Black. Worm tail. The dementors. If Harry played this right, maybe, just maybe… he swallowed, maybe he could save Sirius. Maybe that was his purpose here. Now he just had to play along.

 

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.

 

Harry, who was nearest the door, got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments.

 

The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

 

"What's going on?" said Ron's voice from behind Harry.

 

"Ouch!" gasped Hermione. "Ron, that was my foot!"

 

Harry felt his way back to his seat.

 

"D'you think we've broken down?"

 

"Dunno..."

 

There was a squeaking sound, and Harry saw the dim black outline of Ron, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.

 

"There's something moving out there," Ron said. "I think people are coming aboard..."

 

The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell painfully over Harry's legs.

 

"Sorry! D'you know what's going on? Ouch! Sorry --"

 

"Hullo, Neville," said Harry, feeling around in the dark and pulling Neville up by his cloak.

 

"Harry? Is that you? What's happening?"

 

"Sit down --" Harry hissed. He wasn’t sure if he should say he knew what it was, that would just confuse everyone.

 

There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks.

 

"I'm going to go and ask the driver what's going on," came Hermione's voice. Harry felt her pass him, heard the door slide open again, and then a thud and two loud squeals of pain. Good for her, she wouldn’t be subjected to the awful creature.

 

"Who's that?"

 

"Who's that?"

 

"Ginny?"

 

"Hermione?"

 

"What are you doing?"

 

"I was looking for Ron --"

 

"Come in and sit down --"

 

"Not here!" said Harry hurriedly. "I'm here!"

 

"Ouch!" said Neville.

 

"Quiet!" said a hoarse voice suddenly.

 

Professor Lupin appeared to have woken up at last. Harry could hear movements in his corner.

 

None of them spoke.

 

There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired, gray face, but his eyes looked alert and wary.

 

"Stay where you are." he said in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him.

 

But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it.

 

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Harry's eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water.... it was so familiar and still it made Harry keel over.

 

But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed Harry's gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak.

 

And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

 

An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart...

 

Harry's eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn't see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder...

 

It was quite familiar, and Harry didn’t want to go through the whole fainting episode again.

 

“Expecto Patronum!” He said clearly, remembering Hagrid giving him his Hogwarts letter, being sorted into Gryffindor, and Ron and Hermione. He visualized their faces clearly. In third year, Ron was still tall but far shorter, and Hermione had a hair of bushy hair with buck teeth. 

 

In sixth year, Ron had grown into his body, and Quidditch hadn’t hurt his muscles either. Hermione was older, her hair was still frizzy but she seemed so much more in control of her life and body. Harry shook his head, he was so awash in happy memories, his patronus stag was proudly circling the dementor which was now no more than a wisp in the air.

 

A loud snap made them all jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces.

 

"Here," he said to the the group, handing them all pieces. "Eat it. It'll help."

 

Harry took the chocolate but didn't eat it.

 

“Harry. Impressive patronus charm, especially for a third year,” Lupin said kindly, but there was an edge of suspicion in his voice, “Who taught you how to do that?” oh, Harry felt like laughing. You, he wanted to say, You were the best teacher I had.

 

“I learned over the summer,” he grinned, eagerly biting his piece of chocolate, “I had to do _something_ cooped up in Diagon Alley.”

 

“What was that?” Ginny said, panting. Harry winced, out of everyone, being possessed by Voldemort was high up on the list of bad memories.

 

"A Dementor," said Lupin, handing her an extra piece of chocolate. "One of the Dementors of Azkaban."

 

Everyone else stared at him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.

 

"Eat," he repeated. "It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me..."

 

He strolled past Harry and disappeared into the corridor at the same time as Hermione came back in.

 

“There’s a dementor on the train!” Hermione gasped, sitting down besides Harry.

 

“Yeah, we know,” Ron said sourly. “It just came into our compartment and then Harry made, what was it?” he paused.

 

“A stag,” Harry grinned. It wasn’t really that bad being thirteen again, and at least he’d ace all of his classes, since he had already taken all the OWLs.

 

“Right, a stag came out of Harry’s wand and chased the dementor away!” Ron waved his arms around for emphasis.

 

“A patronus charm! Harry, that’s really advanced,” Hermione’s face was glowing and she leaned over and hugged Harry.

 

“You mean I beat you at something for once?” He murmured, his face pressed against her neck.

 

“‘Course not,” Hermione grinned, “I just haven’t got around to it yet.” Harry pulled back from the embrace and smiled at Hermione. 

 

She looked… beautiful in the fog left in the compartment. Oh, curse his hormone driven brain! He couldn’t think of Hermione like that, she was friend, and besides, she was in love with Ron. He shook his head, as Hermione stared at him, bemused.

 

“We’ll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes,” Professor Lupin announced as he entered, “everyone alright?”

 

“I think so,” Ginny said quietly.

 

“I haven’t poisoned that chocolate, you know,” he smiled at her.

 

“Sorry Professor, I’ve taken your seat,” Hermione looked anxious, and got up.

 

“It’s fine,” Lupin smiled, “I should be going, anyway. However, first,” he looked proudly at Harry, “twenty points to Gryffindor for such excellent spell casting.” He smiled, and Harry could almost see the Lupin he had glanced in the pensive, boyish and carefree.

 

When they arrived at the station, Harry was full of happiness as he heard Hagrid’s voice calling out for first years. They got to the castle, and Harry took his place at the Gryffindor table. He had missed the sorting this year before, now he was here to hear it. It felt good, like he was taking advantage of lost chances.

 

Harry saw Malfoy looking sullen at the Slytherin table. _And that’s another thing!_ Harry thought, he can’t bother me that I fainted or anything because I didn’t!

 

Lee Jordan was seated across the table from Harry and said cheerfully, “Some of the Slytherins are saying you’re a dark wizard Harry, because you did some curse on the train? Malfoy’s spreading the rumors, of course.”

 

Oh well, he couldn’t get away from Malfoy, the nefarious little git. “Wasn’t a curse,” Harry mumbled, “was a charm.”

 

“Still-“ George commented and Fred finished, “wicked cool!”He smiled back at them, thankful for their praise.

 

Once everyone was seated, Dumbledore cleared his throat, “As tradition compels us, a new generation of first years are to be sorted.” He paused, and the hat began its song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please review! I am desperate to hear what you think of this chapter- did I write Lupin alright? Am I using too much quoted text? not enough? Are any characters too out of character for your taste? Have I made a grievous typo? or did you really like this chapter? Please tell me even if it's just to let me know you read it, I appreciate the reviews so much!


	5. Catching Up With The Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I need a chart to keep track of what’s happened so far, so if you need a reminder, adult Harry is stuck in first year, third year Harry is in his adult body, and sixth year Harry is in third year. Confusing? Yep. Continuing? Right now.
> 
> (also the part where Harry calls Draco’s dress robes handsome is a direct quote from the book. Further proof he is smitten.)

 

“Well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each House,” said Hermione, looking thoroughly disgruntled as she took her seat. “Boy and girl from each.” 

 

“And guess who’s a Slytherin prefect?” said Ron, still with his eyes closed. 

 

“Malfoy,” replied Harry at once, his worst fear confirmed. 

 

“ ’Course,” said Ron bitterly, stuffing the rest of the Frog into his mouth and taking another. 

 

“And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson,” said Hermione viciously. “How she got to be a prefect when she’s thicker than a concussed troll . . .”Suddenly, Harry reached up for his scar.

 

“Alright, mate?” Ron asked.

 

“I see… purple?”

 

“Is he having a vision?” Ron fretted, the one thing he remembered from divination classes was the distinct purple and pink fog that was everywhere.

 

“Don’t be an idiot, Ron,” Hermionesnapped, “Harry’s not a seer. But Harry, you really need to see Dumbledore.”

 

Harry couldn’t hear them, for some reason all he could hear was Pansy whispering madly. Cacophony. _Cacophonia._ He couldn’t quite make out what she was saying. Why was Pansy in his head, of all people? And the purple flames…

 

He was back in Diagon Alley, outside of Madame Malkin’s.With Hagrid, and Hermione and Ron. But Ron had stubble, and they looked a bit… older? Hermione looked at Harry weirdly but Ron was smiling like nothing unusual had happened.

 

“Did you not see the purple flames? Like the floo at the ministry!” Harry looked at his friends.

 

“Harry, are you _sure_ you’re okay?” Ron peered at Harry, his smile gone.

 

“Yeah, wait Ron, what?” Harry looked back at his friend who had only grown taller.

 

“The floo has green flames, remember?” Ron glanced weirdly at Harry.

 

“Yeah,” Harry paused. He was so frustrated, didn’t they get it? “We were just on the Hogwarts Express?”

 

“Yeah, the years just seem to fly by,” Hermione smiled, feeling for Harry’s hand, “but I’m sure this year will be better than last. With Scrimgeour as minister no one should harass you, and…” she paused, like she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

 

“Scrimgeour’s minister? What happened to Fudge?” Harry asked. There was no question of it, he had done something and travelled forward in time. But what year was it? And what had he done?

 

“Harry, are you sure that you are okay?” Ron asked again, worried.

 

“Yeah, just…” Harry bit his tongue. He couldn’t tell them. Not when they had kept the Order a secret all summer and then acted like everything was normal. And then there was the time traveling thing too. He couldn’t really trust anyone. Except… “Ginny!” he blurted out, “I need Ginny!”

 

“What?” Hermione asked, her hand dropping quickly.

 

“Yeah,” Harry ad-libbed, “I need to talk to her.” She was the only one he knew who had any experience since she had been possessed. Well, Hermione had time travelled, but that was on purpose. He really didn’t need to alarm Hermione or Ron.

 

“Well,” Ron looked at him oddly like he was a stranger, “you’ll see her in a bit. Let’s get our robes first?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry bit his lip, not willing to say anymore.

 

“Migh’ be a bit of a squeeze in there with all of us,” said Hagrid, stopping outside Madam Malkin’s and bending down to peer through the window. “I’ll stand guard outside, all right?” Stand guard? So it was still dangerous. That was a shame, Harry couldn’t wait for a time where the world was at peace.

 

So Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the little shop together. It appeared, at first glance, to be empty, but no sooner had the door swung shut behind them than they heard a familiar voice issuing from behind a rack of dress robes in spangled green and blue. 

“. . . not a child, in case you haven’t noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.” 

 

There was a clucking noise and a voice Harry recognized as that of Madam Malkin, the owner, said, “Now, dear, your mother’s quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it’s nothing to do with being a child —” 

 

“Watch where you’re sticking that pin, will you!” A teenage boy with a pale, pointed face and white-blond hair appeared from behind the rack, wearing a handsome set of dark green robes that glittered with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves. He strode to the mirror and examined himself; it was a few moments before he noticed Harry, Ron, and Hermione reflected over his shoulder. His light gray eyes narrowed. 

 

“If you’re wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in,” said Draco Malfoy. 

 

“I don’t think there’s any need there’s any need for language like that!” said Madam Malkin, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand. “And I don’t want wands drawn in my shop either!” she added hastily, for a glance toward the door  had shown her Harry and Ron both standing there with their wands out and pointing at Malfoy. 

 

Hermione, who was standing slightly behind them, whispered, “No, don’t, honestly, it’s not worth it. . . .” 

 

“Yeah, like you’d dare do magic out of school,” sneered Malfoy. “Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers.” Harry glanced at Hermione’s eye and realized that it was blackened. He was going to punch whoever did that to her. If he hadn’t already. This time stuff was quite confusing.

 

“That’s quite enough!” said Madam Malkin sharply, looking over her shoulder for support. “Madam — please —” 

 

Narcissa Malfoy strolled out from behind the clothes rack. “Put those away,” she said coldly to Harry and Ron. “If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do.” 

 

“Really?” said Harry, taking a step forward and gazing into the smoothly arrogant face that, for all its pallor, still resembled her sister’s. He was as tall as she was now. He thought of Cedric, and Lucius Malfoy calmly standing there under the mask. He hated him. Hated her, by extension. “Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?” 

 

Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart. “Really, you shouldn’t accuse — dangerous thing to say — wands away, please!” 

 

But Harry did not lower his wand. Narcissa Malfoy smiled unpleasantly. “I see that being Dumbledore’s favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won’t always be there to protect you.” 

 

Harry looked mockingly all around the shop. “Wow . . . look at that . . . he’s not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!” He didn’t need Dumbledore, didn’t need people who kept secrets from him, treated him like a child.

 

 Malfoy made an angry movement toward Harry, but stumbled over his overlong robe. Ron laughed loudly. 

 

“Don’t you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!” Malfoy snarled. 

 

“It’s all right, Draco,” said Narcissa, restraining him with her thin white fingers upon his shoulder. “I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius.” Harry raised his wand higher. What did she mean by that? Where was Sirius, in Azkaban again? What had he done?

 

“Harry, no!” moaned Hermione, grabbing his arm and attempting to push it down by his side. “Think. . . . You mustn’t. . . . You’ll be in such trouble. . . .” 

 

Madam Malkin dithered for a moment on the spot, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hope that it wouldn’t. She bent toward Malfoy, who was still glaring at Harry. “I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just —” 

 

“Ouch!” bellowed Malfoy, slapping her hand away. “Watch where you’re putting your pins, woman! Mother — I don’t think I want these anymore —” He pulled the robes over his head and threw them onto the floor at Madam Malkin’s feet. 

 

“You’re right, Draco,” said Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione, “now I know the kind of scum that shops here. . . . We’ll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.” 

 

And with that, the pair of them strode out of the shop, Malfoy taking care to bang as hard as he could into Ron on the way out. “Well, really!” said Madam Malkin, snatching up the fallen robes and moving the tip of her wand over them like a vacuum cleaner, so that it removed all the dust. 

 

Madame Malkin didn’t say much during their fittings, her lips were pursed and she looked angry the whole time. Harry looked over at Ron in the middle of them, almost afraid to ask the question.

 

“Ron, where is Sirius?” Harry asked quietly, nervous for the answer.

 

Ron looked like he was going to have a spasm. He spoke just as quietly. “Du-dunno, mate. My mum always said that you have a choice after-“

 

“-We really don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to Harry,” Hermione interrupted, stepping on Ron’s foot.

 

“Ow!” Ron yelped.

 

“No, it’s okay. What happened to him?” Harry persisted.

 

Suddenly, both Hermione and Ron’s face turned white. “Is he..” Hermione started and then paled as Harry looked at her, “Are you in denial?” she continued bravely, “Harry, we really don’t have to talk about this.”

 

“No, I want to know,” Harry’s brows furrowed as Madame Malkin’s tape measure glided down his stretched out arm.

 

“Harry, he’s gone. You can’t bring him back.” Hermione winced, reaching for Harry’s hand.Harry didn’t understand, it would be hard, but they could break into Azkaban. Harry could produce a patronus, after all. “He wouldn’t come back as a ghost, you know that,” she said sadly. Suddenly, Harry understood. A ghost. Sirius was… no, he couldn’t have been. What happened in fifth year? 

 

He realized that he was crying soundlessly when Madame Malkin snapped, “Please don’t do that, you’re ruining the fabric.” He brushed his eyes, and apologized to Hermione.

 

“No, Harry,” she sniffled, “it’s okay. We’re both here for you.” The look she gave Ron was very intimidating, and Ron whimpered. “Yeah, Harry,” he said, avoiding Hermione’s glare, “we both are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the reviews and kudos so far! Sorry if this chapter is a bit repetitive, but we're more than halfway through with part one?! (each part has seven chapters, except this part which has nine because of the initial chapter which is more like a prequel.)  
> Anyway, I am extremely grateful to everyone who reviews, it fills my soul with sunshine! xoxo  
> I might post another chapter today, maybe tomorrow.


	6. Memory Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First year Harry gets whisked away to his fifth year.  
> (PS every other Harry has referred to the flames as like the floo, but first year Harry has never seen the floo before! Idk why yet they all think of as the floo but I'm sure there's a reason somewhere.)

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts."

 

Hagrid look quite sick, but not as sick as Harry felt. He saw purple flames surrounding him and almost fainted. Had someone put a spell on him? Was this just Earth telling him he wasn’t good enough to be a wizard? Was he allergic to magic?

 

He opened his eyes, and he was on a train. It was all strange, but no stranger than his day had already been, really. He looked across the compartment and saw a gangly boy with freckles all over and red hair. Next to him was beautiful girl with curly hair and white teeth. He look for a second at himself, and realized that he was _tall_. And really, really fit. Instead of ribs showing, he had abs, and biceps, and-

 

the girl was staring at him, “You sure you're okay, Harry?”

 

“Er, yes. What’s your name again?”

 

The girl looked like she might be sick. “Harry, if you’re playing a joke on us, you need to cut it out right now. Otherwise…”

 

“Otherwise, what?” the boy snapped, “I know you’re angry at us about the Order and about Cedric.”

 

“Ron, no!” the girl interrupted. Ron, the boy’s named was Ron, Harry mentally filed away.

 

“Who’s Cedric?” Harry asked. Was he in some alternate universe? Where he was older and had friends and went on trains?

 

“Merlin’s pants, he’s insane!” the boy said, no, _Ron_ said, Harry corrected himself.

 

“I just-“ he paused and realized he was going to have to be honest or else he would be in trouble really quickly. “All I remember was I was about to get robes with Hagrid in Diagon Alley, and we had just gone to Gringotts, and-“

 

The girl made a weird noise in her throat, and looked concerned, but then “Alright, alright, I think I’ve really got it!”

 

“Remember, there’s no library to dash off to Hermione,” Ron said, bemused. Hermione, her name was Hermione, Harry scrunched up his nose trying to remember the names.

 

“Harry?” Hermione looked at him, “don’t do that.”

 

“Right, Hermione,” he said weakly. “I’m just majorly confused.”

 

“Someone switched the Harrys,” she said confidently.

 

“How is that possible?” Ron gasped.

 

“Magic,” Harry grimaced. Turns out being a wizard had pros and cons. Still, he wasn’t complaining. It was cool to see one future that could turn out. It was almost an adventure.

 

Hermione laughed briefly, and said, turning to Harry, “Yes, magic. Great goblins! You haven’t even got to Hogwarts, have you? You’re going to fail all your classes! I can’t teach you five years of lessons in one train ride!” Hermione was hyperventilating now, “and we have NEWT classes too! Harry, you need to tell someone!”

 

“Blimey, Harry. You really haven’t met us before?” Ron looked like he was torn between laughing and crying. Harry shook his head.

 

“You need to tell Dumbledore,” Hermione turned to him, placing her hand on the black robe he was wearing. _So that was what he was being fitted for._

 

“Who’s Dumbledore?” Harry asked, and at this point Hermione made a weak groan and really did look sicker than Hagrid after going to Gringotts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! I just think it's funny leaving off where I did.  
> I know I always say it, but it's because I always mean it, please review? I promise I'll love you forever, maybe even more than Draco loves Harry!  
> (P.S. about the lack of Drarry so far. So, since the plot is broken up into seven sections (plus the prologue), the first chapters are all exposition, and if you read any good Drarry fic, the slash doesn't come in the first chapter! Sorry, but I like things to be slow. Also, for some reason the Hermione in my head is really keen on Harry even if I don't personally ship it. But I'm going with my gut here.)


	7. The Quidditch World Cup and other drivel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the update took so long, I did have to sleep at some point :D  
> Another shortish chapter but I'm so happy we finally got to Draco. He only gets 2/7 sections because the spell primarily hit Harry, but some of the effects bounced off on Draco, and you'll have to keep reading to find out why, of course. :)  
> I know there are hints of draco/hermione in this chapter but I won't tag it unless it becomes more than Draco's pre-adolescent hormones seeing Hermione all grown up.  
> Also in my head Draco didn't figure out he was bi/pan/gay/not sure until fourth year (why he took Pansy to the ball) so this Draco is still convinced he's straight.
> 
> Yes, Draco is not that snooty but as a Slytherin, he can't be truly confident unless he's sure he's going to win. Since he's unclear of his surroundings and the situation, he's just observing until he can get a grasp on this reality and start harassing Potter. ;)

**There seems like a lack of Draco (my baby) so hopefully the last two chapters remedy that XD**

 

Draco regarded his father cooly as they entered Borgin and Burkes. The bell rang softly as they entered, and his father turned to him as he always did when going into any shop in Knockturn Alley and said, “Touch nothing, Draco.” Draco was expecting this, and was already reaching for the glass eye that had interested him last time.

 

“I thought you were going to buy me a present.” He pouted, looking sourly at his father.

 

“I said I would buy you a racing broom,” said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter.

 

“What’s the good of that if I’m not on the House team?” said Draco, feeling sulky and bad-tempered. “Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He’s not even that good, it’s just because he’s famous…famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead.…”

 

Draco bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls, trying to conceal the blush that had crept over his cheeks.

 

“…everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick —” he muttered angrily.

 

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” Father said, with a quelling look at his son. “And I would remind you that it is not — prudent — to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear — ah, Mr. Borgin.”

 

Draco felt sick. Stupid Potter, renouncing his friendship, breaking rules, everyone loved him…what had Draco done to deserve this in his life? He had been an ideal child, and like any other pureblooded child, was ecstatic to meet _the_ Harry Potter. What did Potter do? Turn away from him, go and get sorted into bloody Gryffindor. He hadn’t even done anything to defeat Voldemort but scream and cry. Well, Draco was going to make him pay this year.

 

He leaned over the shelf of skulls, feeling queasy. He placed his hand over his mouth, he was going to be sick! “Stupid- Potter!” he muttered, knowing that _somehow_ this was Potter’s fault. The world turned purple, and he thought he was stuck in the floo for a second, but obviously he was still in Borgin and Burkes. Then everything flashed silver for a second, and he closed his eyes because the flames were too hot and-

 

“ah- and here’s Lucius!” he heard a booming voice. He was standing, but his eyes were closed.

 

“Move, Draco,” he felt his father push him, and his eyes flew open. There he was, on the stands of a Quidditch match? He was in the second row of some balcony seating, well, he quickly walked over to the trio of open seats, and sat down.

 

He looked around, and saw the whole Weasel clan behind him. The dumpy mother too, and they had brought the mudblood, and “POTTER!”

 

“Malfoy?” Potter said, annoyed. But Potter was older, and his hair was long, down almost to his shoulders. Draco looked for _the_ Weasel, and his hair was even longer. Potter had jawbones, and muscles, and looked _older._ Their faces were pointier, and weird. Major weird. He looked for the mudblood, and she had grown into her face. Draco couldn’t help it, Granger was a major hottie. She had swept her obnoxious bangs to the side, and her face had this _glow_ to it. 

 

He frowned, and stayed quiet as his father spoke. He just didn’t understand what had happened. But he _had_ been in Knockturn Alley, and his father had warned him not to touch something. One of the skulls probably had a spell on it to let you see the future, he thought, and when father finds out I’ve touched it he’ll be furious!

 

“Ah, Fudge,” his Father was saying, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. “How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?”

“How do you do, how do you do?” said Fudge, smiling and bowing to his Mother. “And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?”

 

His Father and the Rodent stared at each other tensely. Draco was quite proud of his nicknames, he had thought them up over the summer for each member of their blasted rat’s nest.

 

“Good lord, Arthur,” his Father said softly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?”

 

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest.”

“How - how nice,” said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile. Draco couldn’t help laughing at the situation, but he shut up when he saw his father glare at him. He followed his Father’s glance to the mudblood, and his lip curled up just a bit. Granger’s face flushed, and Draco wanted to laugh again.

 

“Everyone ready to start?” A squat, chubby man with strawberry blond hair peered at the group seated in the box. These really can’t be the best seats, Draco thought moodily, if the Weasel Clan was here too.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen…welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!” He continued. his father leaned over to him and whispered, “That’s Ludo Bagman. Used to be a Quidditch Star, now is a useless drop-out addicted to gambling wasting away in a corner of the ministry.” But Draco was distracted. The Quidditch Cup! That happened once every four years! The last time he had gone he was ten, two years ago. But now he must be, 14? A teenager? It was weird, he didn’t _feel_ like a teenager at all. Just masquerading in his older self’s body,

 

When he made it back to 1992, he was going to make a fortune betting on the 1994 Quidditch Cup. He just needed to stay here long enough to see who won.

 

“And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce…the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!”

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

 

Draco knew what to do, and he plugged up his ears and covered his eyes. After awhile, he opened them, and saw with amusement Potter trying to throw himself over the stands. Interesting, maybe he could use a Veela to kill Potter, he just needed to sneak one into Hogwarts.

 

“Now, kindly put your hands together for the Irish National Team Mascots!” Draco was in awe, suddenly about a hundred leprechauns came out and started forming patterns. He didn’t care if this was a curse slowly draining away his life force on the other side, he was enjoying it here in his new body. He reached up to stroke his hair back, and realized a couple crucial things: he had stopped using as much gel, and it was parted to the side. And it was longer, almost as long as Potter’s hair. He felt uneasy, even if long hair was the fashion, he didn’t like it at all.

 

They called out the players, and the match began. Draco was enthralled, and couldn’t keep his eyes off the game. When Krum won the game with a Wronski Feint, he couldn’t believe it! The game was too short but that was the perfect ending. It was almost as if it was planned… Draco wouldn’t put it past them organizing it as a publicity stunt. Everyone knew CIQA (Conglomeration International of Quidditch Associations) was corrupt, way in debt, and would do anything for the money.

 

Draco could hear the ‘sacred trio’ snorting something about winning and the mudblood drooling over Krum. As if a pureblood would ever go near something like Granger. After a few minutes of cheering, a bright light overwhelmed the box and Fudge said a few more words of drivel.

 

“Remember the plan,” his father said to him in a low voice as people cheered while the teams flew around the pitch.

 

“What’s the plan?” Draco asked, knowing this may reveal that he was an idiot but not wanting the get killed.

 

“Boy, you drive me insane,” his father muttered, and smacked Draco on the head, “Stay with your mother. Stay safe.”

 

“You know me, father,” Draco drawled, enjoying being a fourteen year old, “I’d never do anything dangerous.” He simpered, and his Father glared at him and walked out of the stands, leaving Draco alone with his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost done with part one and I'm super excited about that!  
> Thank you to everyone reading it even though it's not complete, I'll try to be efficient in posting chapters.  
> Please please review, I really love reading the comments and will likely take suggestions and edits!
> 
> An interesting tidbit: in the books, Harry describes the veela as having pale skin and golden blond hair. Remind you of anyone? ;)
> 
> Thank you so much to Yumehayla for giving the piece kudos, I'm glad you liked it!


	8. The End of the Beginning (end of Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourth year Draco is stuck in his Second Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Draco. He takes this a bit worse than Harry. Even if he's calmer, he doesn't trust anyone and will have to figure the spell out himself. I know I'm writing a very quiet Draco, I promise he'll get sassier XD
> 
> So, this is the end of part 1! Thank you so much to everyone who has read everything so far! I'm working a bit on plot bunnies, and hopefully part 2 starts relatively quickly. Again, this is a taking-it-slow fic so we'll see where it ends up!
> 
> Thank you so much indigoprinceofslytherin because your comments continue to make me smile and blush!

“Shut up and stay quiet Draco,” Father glared at Draco. Draco felt a bit hurt, what was his Father trying to say? That Draco was bound to talk? Please! It was just him, Father and Mother in the top box with a bunch of other ministry supporters, likely. Draco would be too absorbed in the game, he was sure, to pay any attention to anything else.

 

“Yes father,” Draco said sarcastically, “any other instructions? Dear old death eaters going to fly over the game or something?” He hated his father sometimes, hated that he seemed to have time in his life for anything but Draco. The one time he was going out to a game with Father, and he was already bossing Draco around. Oh, sure Draco knew it was a mark of strength: Malfoys protect their own, and all that.

 

“Well…” his Father started, and Draco paled.

 

“Father, you don’t mean to tell me you actually are planning something? Not in the middle of the game, I’ve been planning this for weeks!” Draco pouted.

 

“Don’t worry Draco,” his Father drawled, bored, “it will all be after the game. Nothing but a bit of amusement and punishment for the hopeless muggles littering the campsite.”

 

“Alright then,” Draco flushed. He didn’t mind it really, but he thought his Father for once just wanted to spend time with him. Of course he was plotting something, when would he ever just _do something innocent with his son?_ “In that case,” Draco continued calmly, “I want to join in. I’m old enough, surely.” He looked up at his Father but he turned away gently.

 

“Draco, you’ll be old enough when you’re sixteen. Right now, you’re a minor, and it’s extremely dangerous. After the game, you will stay with your mother, and she will apparate you home. Do you understand?” His father’s tone had turned stern, and Draco knew better than to argue.

 

“Of course,” he said, with as much anger as he could muster in the statement. “Stay with mother. Stay quiet. I understand.”

 

“Good boy,” his Father leered, messing up Draco’s precious hair. Curses!

 

All of a sudden, the world turned purple. Purple, as in floo power? Stay calm, stay calm, “Father! Father!” he was panting now, “Do you see them too?”

 

“Don’t be an idiot Draco,” he heard, and then he was gone. Gone, as in he was in Brogan and Burkes, facing the familiar sight of the skulls.

 

“Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again,” said Mr. Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair. “Delighted — and young Master Malfoy, too — charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced —” Draco turned around and saw his father chatting amiably with Mr. Borgin. Where was he? What had happened? Was this what his father was talking about- that the mud bloods will pay? But Draco wasn’t a mudblood, his blood was pure! What had his father said? Stay quiet, stay with his mother.

 

“I’m not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling,” his Father was saying.

“Selling?” The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin’s face.

“You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids,” his Father said darkly. So this was what it was about, the interfering ministry was sticking their nose in the Manor again, were they? But why was Draco _here_? It just didn’t make sense.

 

“I have a few — ah — items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call.…” his Father cleared his throat discreetly.

Mr. Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked down the list. “The Ministry wouldn’t presume to trouble you, sir, surely?”

His Father’s lip curled.

“I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act — no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear —”

“I understand, sir, of course,” said Mr. Borgin. “Let me see.…”

Draco was busy looking through the store. The last time they had visited was early in June. “Can I have that?” interrupted Draco, pointing at the withered hand on its cushion. He had been asking it since he first saw it in second year, but the answer was always no.

“Ah, the Hand of Glory!” said Mr. Borgin, abandoning the list and scurrying over to Draco. “Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir.”

 

“I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin,” said his Father coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, “No offense sir, no offense meant.”

 

“Though if his grades don’t pick up,” his father said, more coldly still, “that may indeed be all he is fit for —”

“It’s not my fault,” retorted Draco, protesting. “The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger —”

 

“I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam,” snapped Mr. Malfoy.

“It’s the same all over,” said Mr. Borgin, in his oily voice. “Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere —”

“Not with me,” said Mr. Malfoy, his long nostrils flaring.

“No, sir, nor with me, sir,” said Mr. Borgin, with a deep bow.

“In that case, perhaps we can return to my list,” said Mr. Malfoy shortly. “I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today —”

 

They started to haggle, his father wouldn’t give in easily, Draco knew. There was just something _off_ about this whole situation.

 

“Done,” his father said, a few minutes later, “Draco, come along with me, we still have a few more errands to run.” Draco followed his Father meekly, but almost keeled over when he saw his reflection in the store window, this wasn’t some curse, he had _travelled back in time_ , and he looked down at his petit figure and gelled back hair. How did I ever think that gel soaked hair looked good? He wondered conceitedly. He was going to have to do a major wardrobe overhaul.

 

Draco was remembering the day, they had gone shopping for school supplies and his father had stopped in a few more shops to sell some delicate wares. Then he remembered more, this year, the Chamber of Secrets opened. And Potter stole all the glory, as usual.

 

As they were exiting Knockturn Alley, Draco asked abruptly, “Father, what do you know about the Chamber of Secrets.”

 

His father paled dramatically, and said quickly, “As I recall, that oaf Hagrid got expelled for opening, but they say only the heir of Slytherin can opened it. Not much, I’m afraid, Draco.”

 

“Father,” Draco rolled his eyes, “Please don’t act dumb with me. We’re distinctly related to Slytherin, and whoever opens the Chamber with have glory, fame and riches. Don’t waste it,” he bit his mouth, remembering the Weaselette and Potter had killed the basilisk, “Don’t waste it on a Weasley, or Potter.” The names felt bitter in his mouth.

 

“How did you find out?” His father glared at him.

 

“Time travel,” Draco laughed and rolled his eyes, “or maybe I’m just a seer, Father.”

 

“Who told you!” His father roared and pulled Draco aside, pinning him to a shop’s wall.

 

“They’re dead, Father,” he rolled his eyes again, “just please give it to me?” He didn’t know what _it_ was, a key or a sword, maybe? All he knew was the Weaselette had somehow opened the Chamber by accident and Potter swooped in and saved her. And this all all happened because of his father.

 

“Fine, Draco, take the book if you are so insistent on it. If you intend to open the chamber, don’t get caught, and at least kill some nasty mud bloods, will you?” his Father looked pained, as he handed over a black leather bound book.

 

“ _This_ is it?” Draco asked without thinking.

 

“Seems like you aren’t as well informed as you thought,” his father drawled, “now, speaking of books, you need your textbooks, don’t you?”

 

They headed over to Flourish and Blotts, and Draco sickly remembered as they entered the shop that Potter, again, was getting the attention of the press.

 

“When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography — which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge —” The crowd applauded again. 

 

“He had no idea,” Lockhart continued, giving Potter a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, “that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

 

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?” Draco said with a sneer. He hadn’t remembered what he said at the time, but it was something like that. “Famous Harry Potter,” he continued, he couldn’t resist the look on Potter’s face. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”

“Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!” said the Weaslette shouted, glaring. Ugh, her freckled skin disgusted Draco possibly more than any other in the Weasel clan.      

 

“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” drawled Draco. Ginny went scarlet as the Weasel and Granger fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart’s books.

“Oh, it’s you,” the Weasel said stupidly, he couldn’t come up with anything better to say, Draco was sure. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” retorted Draco. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.”

 

Draco couldn’t resist it, whenever he brought up money the Weasel’s face matched his hair, and this time was no different: Potter had to pull the Weasley back from fighting him.

 

“Ron!” said their father, struggling over with Fred and George. “What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.”

“Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley.” His father grabbed Draco’s shoulder, and Draco sneered at the whole family.

“Lucius,” Arthur Weasley said, nodding coldly. He had just of a dangerous temper as his sons. They were going to be criminals when they were older, Draco thought sagely.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” his father said, obviously bitter. “All those raids…I hope they’re paying you overtime?”

He reached into the youngest Weasley’s cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration.

“Obviously not,” his father said. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?” Draco loved his father sometimes. Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either of his disgraces that he called children.     

 

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he said.

“Clearly,” said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to the mudblood’s parents who were watching apprehensively. “The company you keep, Weasley…and I thought your family could sink no lower.”

There was a thud of metal as the girl’s cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him into a bookshelf. Draco rolled his eyes as the redheaded clan cheered their father on. They really were a disgrace to wizarding society.

 

Draco felt a sour taste in his mouth as the fight broke apart. When he flooed home, he didn’t feel any better, even with his new school supplies.

 

No, he had really had an awful day. It all seemed quite often until he opened that black leather bound book that his father had given him outside of Borgin and Burkes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone sticking through with this and putting up with me! If you felt shy reviewing/commenting before on a random chapter, then this is a good place to comment because it's the end of Part 1.
> 
> Next Part you'll get to see where all the Harrys/Dracos end up (hopefully it's together!)
> 
> (and yes this means Draco may open the Chamber of Secrets, we'll see ;D)
> 
> *I'm working on the next chapter but am going to post a few one-shots first as a way to distract myself ;P


	9. Part 2, Chapter 1?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The start of Part 2, where if you recall, adult Harry is stuck in his fourth year and just bantered with Draco. If you've forgotten the details then you may want to read chapter 2 because it seems like forever ago? (just kidding it was yesterday)  
> WHERE WE LEFT OFF:  
> Madam Malkin said quickly, "That's you done, my dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to not answer Malfoy’s question, hopped down from the footstool. "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks indigoprinceofslytherin for the super nice comment, as you can probably tell from this chapter: it's slow burn drarry.  
> Thanks empress-of-books for the query on the Chamber of Secrets, even if this chapter holds no answers to you question, it may provoke more questions. oops.

Harry ate the the ice cream Hagrid had given him rather greedily, glad for an excuse not to say anything, lest he mess up. He had missed Florean, missed the free ice cream sundaes in third year. Another painful murder, and it was all Voldemort's fault. If only this year he could find the horcruxes and kill Voldemort, then he could save so many. Even Hagrid. He was having a hard time listening to Hagrid without seeing the gruesome image of his bloodied body, so fresh in Harry's mind.

They went and got Harry's books in Flourish and Blotts, a nice pewter cauldron, scales, a telescope, and potion ingredients. Harry still had no idea what basic potion ingredients were, so they had to ask the man behind the counter. When Hagrid got Harry an owl for the second time, Harry couldn't help feeling his heart stop. It wasn't that he didn't want an owl, but he couldn't stand having Hedwig, it almost felt like a replacement. Harry wanted to honour her memory, and asked Hagrid for a tawny barn owl instead. He thanked Hagrid profusely, loving his new owl. Now he would just have to find a name.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

Harry was less nervous than last time, he was going to get the same wand, wasn't he? Since his soul was connected to Voldemort's. He hated that he was tied up again, but at least he was a parseltongue again, that was cool.

He felt as disturbed as ever, entering Ollivander's. It was a bit like a library: stacks and stacks of thin boxes that ranged from brown to white to black, holding, Harry knew, countless wands. The air prickled with magic, filled with potential. It reminded Harry a bit of the department of mysteries. A bell rang out somewhere in the back of the shop, and it was spelled to sound like a wind chime, even if there was no wind in the shop. There was a small spindly chair, and Hagrid sat down on it.

"Good morning," Harry heard Mr. Ollivander, and jumped with shock. Even repeating the experience, it still scared Harry. Hagrid must have jumped too, because he had stood up from the small chair, knocking it over. Mr. Ollivander contrasted dramatically with the dark shadows of the shop, it seemed like his white beard and pale grey eyes were the only light source.

"Hello," Harry smirked. He knew this man, he had seen this man tortured and had been kidnapped next to him. He was no longer the scared eleven year old, he was like a superhero. A time traveller of justice! All he needed now was a name. And quite possibly Draco Malfoy.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." Harry almost rolled his eyes, he was tired of people telling hi he had his mother's eyes. Even going back to his first year, he could save so many people but not his parents. It angered him, they deserved a long and happy life.

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it -- it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. "And that's where..." Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do...." He shook his head.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again.... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er -- yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry had to stifle in his grin as Hagrid's hand clamped around the pink umbrella.

"Hmm," Mr Ollivander said, and stared at Harry. It was almost as if he knew, Harry sweated. But no, he was only taking out a tape measure.

"Well, now -- Mr. Potter. Let me see. Which is your wand arm?"

"My right," Harry said briefly. This was a standard question on auror forms, he felt like he had been asked his wand arm a million times now.

"Hold out you arm, Mr. Potter," Mr. Ollivander began measuring. "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Mr. Ollivander went up to the shelves, and started pulling out boxes. Even if he knew the outcome, Harry still felt nervous.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave." Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try --" Harry tried -- but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no -here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out." Harry tried. And tried. It was frusterating, Harry wanted to shout out, 'Holly and pheonix feather! Eleven inches! Slightly supple!', but he kept quiet. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere -- I wonder, now - - yes, why not -- unusual combination -- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." Harry took the wand, ready for the sparks and the end the be near. He waved it, but it didn't seem to be his. It was almost as if this universe was repelling him, telling him, "you don't belong here". Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand just as quickly as the last time, and Harry's heart dropped.

"Not to worry, not to worry, just an idea," Mr. Ollivander said breezily, "Why don't you try this apple one? One of the few I have in veela hair," but Harry knew that one wouldn't work well either, he had held Fleur's wand only once and never wanted to touch veela hair again. More and more wands were discarded, and Mr. Ollivander looked as if this was the most fun he had had all summer.

"Mr. Potter, I don't think the standard cores are working," he held Harry in a fixed glance, "quite unusual, as I swear by Dragon heartstring, Phoenix feathers and Unicorn hair. Quite peculier, one might say. Don't be alarmed, I have a whole storeroom of backups in rare cores. I'll be just a minute." Mr. Ollivander went quietly through a door in the back of the room, disappearing behind a cluttered shelf. It seemed to Harry as they had gone through almost every wand Mr. Ollivander owned, and it was quite exhausting.

"Hagrid?" Harry asked quietly, now that Mr. Ollivander was temporarily gone, "Does it usually take this long?"

"Well, no it innit usually," Hagrid cleared his throat and went red, "But, err- I'm sure, Harry, that it'll be okay, Mr. Ollivander is an expert an' all."

When Mr. Ollivander came out, though, he only had ten wands to show Harry. He spread them out on the counter and pointed them out, left to right.

"Thestral hair," Harry winced, he didn't want to touch that ever again, he had enough of the core that felt like death and destruction in the Elder wand, "famous for death and life. Oh, no Mr. Potter, not to be feared. That one...has lots of power. Try it," Mr. Ollivander held it out. Harry waved it around, and to his gratification and relief, nothing happened.

"Alright, this one has dittany stalk in it. Famous for healing." He again, offered the wand to Harry, and Harry took it. A little healing wouldn't go amiss in his life.

"Coral?" Nothing happened.

"Ashwinder? This one you'll find in love potions, but most wizards don't have enough compassion to master it." Harry tried it, but if anything, the room went colder.

"Banshee hair? Healing, as well," Mr. Ollivander was starting to sweat, they were halfway through the pile.

"This one's old...basilisk skin?" If this was the wand, Harry laughed, that would be extremely ironic. Trust Voldemort to screw up his life again. He was starting to regret not choosing Hedwig, without his old wand, nothing seemed familiar in this universe.

"Why not..centaur hair?" Ollivander sighed, and handed the wand over to Harry.

Harry waved the wand, and the room lit up, the floor becoming hotter and the sunlight rushing through the windows. Harry could see Hagrid's face start to sweat and grow red, and quickly dropped the wand.

"Perfect," Mr. Ollivander placed the wand in the box, and handed it to Harry. "Quite interesting, young man. Centaur hair is powerful in one who sees, not a seer necessarily, but one who has great wisdom in regard to the future. Curious... curious... you wouldn't have any seer blood in your family, would you? It's quite dependable, don't worry. Centaur wands pick up new spells quickly, but are slower in performing. Stay away from any duels, would you?" He grinned, but it only made Harry's uneasy feeling grow. It oddly made sense, Harry had lived a possible future, but clearly not this one. Regardless, he still knew all sorts of facts that would come in handy.

Harry counted out the seven galleons and put them on the counter that had been cluttered with all the tried boxes.

"Oh, and Mr. Potter?" Mr. Ollivander called out before they left the shop, fixing his grey eyes on Harry, "I forgot to tell you. Twelve inches, quite sturdy, and pure elder. Have a good day."

Harry paled as he fingered his wand. No wonder it was so powerful, it was  _elder._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and tell me what you think! Ugh- I'm sorry, I promised a long chapter, but I love cliffhangers more than I should :P  
> I don't keep a steady posting schedule, so if you are interested in what happens to Harry, you can bookmark (http://archiveofourown.org/works/5787289/chapters/13359637#bookmark-form) the story and get updates whenever I post something new! It should be soon, because I can't wait to write about adult!Draco and thirdyear!Harry at the ball together. Promised awkwardness XD


	10. An Unfathomable Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry sorry(!) that it's been a month or so. I've actually had this chapter written and saved for about two weeks now, but I don't know how I feel about it. I love Ron and Hermione, and I know they'll be together in at least 1 of the 7 timelines, but I'm trying to decide which...this story is going to have a lot of ships, and so hopefully if one is not your taste you'll like another?  
> Again, not a lot of plot but a lot of arse-staring. It's probably just the teenage hormones. ;)  
> (3rd year Harry in present day)

“So Potter, you work at Quality Quidditch, which is where Pansy hexed you,” Malfoy continued. Harry was feeling quite nauseated. He had just been told what had happened the last four years of Hogwarts, and he had defeated Voldemort? and then had become an auror? It seemed to good to be true, really. Well, everything except for Malfoy. The prat seemed to hold this whole incident over him, his eyes had this infuriating glimmer in them that seemed to say, Wait until you get your memories back, and then I’ll hold this over your head until yesteryear. Harry swallowed, distracted.

“And since I'm a lawyer,” Malfoy was saying.

“Wait- what?” Harry interrupted, “Isn’t a lawyer a muggle profession? And since when did you…?” He trailed off, blushing a bit.

“Have you not been paying attention, Potter?” Malfoy asked, clearly irritated. Harry felt better, Malfoy was acting more like, well more like the Malfoy he knew. “And at any rate, I’m an independent contract lawyer,” he said, stressing the title, “some of us actually want to do good in this world.”

“That’s not fair!” Harry protested, “According to you, I killed Voldemort in seventh year!”

“You didn’t kill him,” Malfoy couldn’t hold back the glee in his voice, “technically, he killed himself. You just deflected the curse.”

“But-but-well, I mean,” Harry ran his hand through his hair. The git was so annoying. How had he ever married the bloody elitist prat?

“Oh Harry, I forgot how cute you get when you’re flustered,” Malfoy reached over and ruffled Harry’s hair. Harry winced and jerked back.

“Merlin’s pants,” Malfoy looked pained and jumped back just as quickly as Harry. “Potter, I’m so sorry. I was completely out of line, I forgot—“

“Malfoy,” Harry rolled his eyes, “just-“ he bit his tongue because he hated Malfoy, even this grown up maybe slightly nicer looking version of him, but this Malfoy apparently didn’t hate Harry. Or, whatever.  
Malfoy looked equally ashamed, and looked down. He seemed to regain some confidence, because he looked back straight into Harry’s eyes with a smirk and continued, “So Potter, I need to tell you about our wedding. The conversation always rolls around to it somehow.”

“Wait-what? What the hell happened at our wedding?” Harry gasped and stuttered.

“It all started, really, when I made the regrettable choice of choosing Pansy as our maid of honor…”

Harry sat back in the hospital bed, comfortable. They hadn’t moved and three hours had almost passed because Malfoy had already informed him that they would, “need the last two hours just to get him ready.” Whatever that meant.

Harry was trying to soak up all the details, and he was really nervous for this ball. What was he supposed to do? Take Malfoy’s word, that he had just forgotten more than twenty years of his life? Trust Malfoy of all people to provide him an unbiased account of his life story.

“Malfoy,” he interrupted whatever tangent the man was on, “I want to see Ron. And Hermione.”

“You-“ the blond broke off of his story, “you don’t trust me,” he shook his head.

“Well, yes.” Harry blushed, for some unfathomable reason.

“Damn it Potter,” Malfoy seemed to lose his calm exterior for the briefest of moments, “Why didn’t you let me know this from the beginning? All this time we’ve wasted…”

“I don’t know!” Harry sweated, “I was distracted!” He was, kind of distracted. Everything had changed so much. He was preoccupied in getting accustomed in his new body, and this new life.

“Alright, I suppose it doesn’t matter that much. You can see Hermione, and Ron. I’ll floo-call Hermione, and ask her to bring Ron,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, but Harry thought he might be smiling a bit. Malfoy strode off, tall and lean, and Harry couldn’t help stare at his back as he left the room. Well, maybe not his back. His arse was pretty nice too. How had they grown up, so neat and nice and tall? Harry couldn’t get over his adult self’s muscles, if he kept on playing quidditch and was an auror though, there was no excuse for him not to be fit. His hair was shorter, but still long enough for him to run his hands through.

A few moments later, and there was a shimmer of light in the floo. Harry couldn’t get over, when he had seemingly forgotten all his memories, there had been floo flames surrounding him, but they were violet instead of the familiar emerald. Was that the symbol for the tear in his memory? But his thoughts were interrupted by a beaming Ron and Hermione.

And fancy flobberworms! They had changed. Besides the new height of everyone which surprised Harry to no end (he knew they would have to grow at some point, but somehow he had never thought of it that much) Ron had grown into his height, with lean toned muscles even better than Harry’s, and a similar shorter hairstyle. He still had his defining freckles, but they seemed almost suggestive not covering Ron but highlighting Ron? And Hermione, Harry couldn’t help but gasp a bit, her hair was long, silky and curled, and she wore a dress that seemed to cling to all her curves. And her teeth were all white and straight!

He was going insane. No, he wasn’t they were his best mates, no wonder he had some interest in how they had turned out. But they were all. so. hot. Maybe it was just his teenage hormones. In third year there had been no one this fit. Except maybe Cho. She was nice to look at occasionally.

“Err…Harry?” Hermione said cautiously. Ron clung to her side, almost afraid to talk. But why? What had happened that had caused his best friends to be… scared of him? Surely they might not like him getting together with Malfoy, but that wouldn’t cause this…fear, would it?

“And why weren’t you two clobbering at my bedside as I lay in pain?” Harry smiled, rolling his eyes as he sat up.

“Potter,” Ron squeaked, and looked absolutely terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay! cliffhangers are fun <3


	11. A Silly Sorting Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title suggests, bear with me on possibly the worst song you've ever heard. Feel free to sing it out loud! (Sixth year Harry in Third Year)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... am not a poet. But thank you so much to Melati for their kind review on chapter one, you inspired me to write a bit today <3

_ Once everyone was seated, Dumbledore cleared his throat, “As tradition compels us, a new generation of first years are to be sorted.” He paused, and the hat began its song. _

“Listen wisely and you’ll see

why the sorting’s done by me

I may appear to be a simple hat

But on many heads I have sat

 

I can see your greatest wants

Your strengths, and your weakest taunts

Don’t try to hide from me

Let me tell you where you should be

 

You may be confused on how I choose

Personality matters, but your values are my muse

It matters not what you are today

but what you will grow to be another day

 

There are four houses to which you may draw:

Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw

All are valued equally, though none are the same

But in their differences, they have all drawn fame

 

If you look for power, look to Slytherin

Cunning students, who would rise and win

In that house, you’ll find loyal friends

Everyone knows: the means justify the ends

 

Gryffindor is for those who have nerve and are brave

Godric said, “One should stay chivalrous to their grave!”

The boldest have brute force and will fight to get their way

But even small acts of bravery will help you any day

 

Hufflepuffs are trustworthy and loyal

They value tenacity, and are hard to stump or foil

They’re patient to the end, but never give up

And usually find the answer: through determination, or luck!

 

Ravenclaw values those who seek the truth in life

They look for intelligence, and use facts as a knife

If you have brains then use them, and here you’ll find your kind

Ravenclaws are always looking for a brilliant mind

 

But any lot you draw is good

The houses are all the same

In anyone you’ll find best friends

And have great deeds to your name

 

Welcome to Hogwarts young students here

And don’t be filled with empty fear

You all are the same, I can see it, I know!

And you all stay the same, wherever you go.”

 

There was polite applause, and Ron leaned over and whispered in Harry’s ear, “It gets worse every year, doesn’t it?” Hermione stifled a giggle before shushing them both.

 

Harry barely paid attention during the sorting, it seemed that no one else in this weird world had been switched. One second, Hermione, Ron, and him had been chasing after Malfoy, the next he was back here in his third year. He actually hadn’t heard the sorting hat’s song for this year, as he had been in the infirmary, and it was interesting that even when it wasn’t warning about interpose unity, he called the students all the same.

 

At the end, Dumbledore stood up and his eyes glimmered as he looked over the great hall. “Welcome! Welcome to another  "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast..."

 

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

 

He paused, and Harry shook his head, internally cursing the inhuman creatures who had ruined his life. Who had taken Sirius’s. If he could, he would have killed them all by now. If only anyone knew how to kill dementors.

 

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises -- or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly, Ron glanced over to Harry. "It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors," he said.

 

"On a happier note," he continued, “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year.

 

First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

 

There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Only those who had been in the compartment on the train with Professor Lupin clapped hard, Harry among them. Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes, but Harry didn’t care. Lupin was the best defense teacher they had ever had, and the most deserving of the post. The curse was still on the position so Harry knew whatever he did Lupin would be gone by the end of the year, but while he was teaching Harry was going to make sure that Lupin had a good year too.

 

"Look at Snape!" Ron hissed in Harry's ear. Harry didn’t have to look, he could _feel_ the waves of hatred coming off their least favourite greasy-haired professor.

 

“As for the second appointment,” Dumbledore continued, “I am sorry to inform you that Professor Kettleburn is retiring, to enjoy more time within remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to tell you that the new Care of Magical Creatures professor is no other than our own Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching role along with his gamekeeping duties.”

 

The was a moment of silence, and Harry paused for a second before remember to looked shocked, and suddenly there was a roar of applause, and Hagrid’s grin seemed to make the whole great hall lighter.

 

“We should’ve known!” Ron roared, pounding the table. Harry joined him, but all this happiness seemed a bit forced. He had already gone through this year, already lived. There were no surprises, no joys, only the unfathomable fate of the tragedies to come. “Who else would have assigned us a biting book?” Ron continued. Ah, and then there was that too.

 

There was a long time spent clapping, and Harry almost felt bad for Lupin in comparison, but he didn’t seem to mind, he was also happily clapping.

 

“Well, I think that’s everything of importance,” Dumbledore said at last. “Let the feast begin!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, and bearing with me. I want to say I promise this will get better but in all likelihood it will probably get worse before it gets better. Can I qualify this as a crack!fic? The fact that I can ask that question is disturbing, I promise it will get more romantic!


	12. Jokes and a *Sirius* Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to empress-of-books for reading it all, your comments have really motivated me to keep going. And thank you Yumehayla for your nice comment and request, here is fifth year Harry in sixth year. Both are sulky adolescents!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we get to Ginny. I have to be honest, I love her, but I hate her character. She has no flaws, and you can’t convince me waiting for Harry for seven years is a flaw because she dated other guys too. This problem arises, I think, from the fact is she was written as Harry’s girlfriend from the beginning, and therefore her only purpose in the series was to be good enough to date the boy who lived. So usually fanfics have to flesh out her personality, and then i think she’s more likable.
> 
> I’ve seen a lot of portrayals of “badass Ginny”, but when I read Ginny, I think of her as sweet and quieter. She grew up in a house full of boys and it was hard for her to get a word in edgewise. Her whole seven years at Hogwarts were spent lusting quietly after Harry, she only dated the other boys to get to him really. She’s a total romantic but also kind of a geek, fangirl, and dork. (but athletic!) She’ll come up with bad puns, and joke around, but only with people she’s comfortable around. We see this side of her once she starts dating Harry, and then is when she really blossoms. Out of all the timelines, this one has the most potential for Hinny, which I may not ship but is not a NOTP so I may pursue it. Or I may not. You’ll just have to wait and see :D (Just to clarify, "sweet and quieter" does not mean she's not as violent or hypocritical as she can get in the books. She's still obsessed with Harry, and she still gets jealous, but she's not some super woman or anything. In fact, she might be the most like the readers: quiet fangirl who is to nervous to say much but has a lot of anger pent up for anyone who insults their OTP)

When Harry went out of the shop, he groaned. He just couldn’t escape Draco.

“Hagrid,” he asked, annoyed, “Did you see the Malfoys leave?”

“Yeah," said Hagrid, unconcerned. "Bu they wouldn’ dare make trouble in the middle o' Diagon Alley, Harry. Don' worry about them."   
    
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged looks, and Harry highly doubted Hagrid. A lot may have happened in a year, but in no universe were the Malfoys “good” or “law-abiding”. But before they could say anything, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny appeared, all clutching heavy packages of books.   
    
"Everyone all right?" said Mrs. Weasley. "Got your robes? Right then, we can pop in at the Apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George's — stick close, now. . . ."   
    
Neither Harry nor Ron bought any ingredients at the Apothecary, seeing that they were no longer studying Potions, but both bought large boxes of owl nuts for Hedwig and Pigwidgeon at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Then, with Mrs. Weasley checking her watch every minute or so, they headed farther along the street in search of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop run by Fred and George.   
    
"We really haven't got too long," Mrs. Weasley said. "So we'll just have a quick look around and then back to the car. We must be close, that's number ninety-two . . . ninety-four . . ."   
    
"Whoa,"said Ron, stopping in his tracks.   
    
Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop Fronts around them, Fred and Georges windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby were looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people had actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked; Harrys eyes began to water just looking at it. The right-hand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:   
    
WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT   
YOU-KNOW-WHO?   
YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT   
U-NO-POO--   
THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION   
THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!   
    
Harry started to laugh. He heard a weak sort of moan beside him and looked around to see Mrs. Weasley gazing, dumbfounded, at the poster. Her lips moved silently, mouthing the name "U-No-Poo."   
    
"They'll be murdered in their beds!" she whispered.   
    
"No they won’t!" said Ron, who, like Harry, was laughing. "This is brilliant!"   
    
And he and Harry led the way into the shop. It was packed with customers; Harry could not get near the shelves. He stared around, looking up at the boxes piled to the ceiling: he didn’t recognize any of the products, but they looked brilliant! Boxes called Skiving Snackboxes, and Nosebleed Nougat which had almost sold out. There were bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved, the most expensive beating the unwary user around the head and neck, and boxes of quills, which came in Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties. A space cleared in the crowd, and Harry pushed his way toward the counter, where a gaggle of delighted ten-year-olds was watching a tiny little wooden man slowly ascending the steps to a real set of gallows, both perched on a box that read: reusable hangman — spell it or he'll swing! He patted himself on the back, giving Fred and George was the best use of his triwizard earnings.  
    
"'Patented Daydream Charms…”  
    
Hermione had managed to squeeze through to a large display near the counter and was reading the information on the back of a box bearing a highly colored picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who were standing on the deck of a pirate ship.   
    
"'One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens. You know," said Hermione, looking up at Harry, "that really is extraordinary magic!"   
    
"For that, Hermione," said a voice behind them, "you can have one for free."   
    
A beaming Fred stood before them, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair.   
    
"How are you, Harry?" They shook hands. "And what's happened to your eye, Hermione?"   
    
"Your punching telescope," she said ruefully.   
    
"Oh blimey, I forgot about those," said Fred. "Here —"   
    
He pulled a tub out of his pocket and handed it to her; she unscrewed it gingerly to reveal a thick yellow paste.   
    
"Just dab it on, that bruise'll be gone within the hour," said Fred. "We had to find a decent bruise remover. We're testing most of our products on ourselves."   
    
Hermione looked nervous. "It is safe, isn't it?" she asked.   
    
'"Course it is," said Fred bracingly. "Come on, Harry, I'll give you a tour."   
    
Harry left Hermione dabbing her black eye with paste and followed Fred toward the back of the shop, where he saw a stand of card and rope tricks.   
    
"Muggle magic tricks!" said Fred happily, pointing them out. "For freaks like Dad, you know, who love Muggle stuff. It's not a big earner, but we do fairly steady business, they're great novelties. . . . Oh, here's George. ..."   
    
Fred's twin shook Harrys hand energetically.   
    
"Giving him the tour? Come through the back, Harry, that's where we're making the real money—pocket anything, you, and you'll pay in more than Galleons!" he added warningly to a small boy who hastily whipped his hand out of the tub labeled edible dark   
    
MARKS----THEY'LL MAKE ANYONE SICK!   
    
George pushed back a curtain beside the Muggle tricks and Harry saw a darker, less crowded room. The packaging on the products lining these shelves was more subdued.   
    
"We've just developed this more serious line," said Fred. "Funny how it happened . . ."   
    
"You wouldn't believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can't do a decent Shield Charm," said George. "'Course, they didn't have you teaching them, Harry."   
    
"That's right. . . . Well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh, you know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we're still getting massive orders!"   
    
"So we've expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves ..."   
    
"... I mean, they wouldn't help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor to moderate hexes or jinxes . . ."   
    
"And then we thought we'd get into the whole area of Defense Against the Dark Arts, because it's such a money spinner," continued George enthusiastically. "This is cool. Look, Instant Darkness Powder, we're importing it from Peru. Handy if you want to make a quick escape."   
    
"And our Decoy Detonators are just walking off the shelves, look," said Fred, pointing at a number of weird-looking black horn-type objects that were indeed attempting to scurry out of sight. "You just drop one surreptitiously and it'll run off and make a nice loud noise out of sight, giving you a diversion if you need one.   
    
"Handy," said Harry, impressed.   
    
"Here," said George, catching a couple and throwing them to Harry.   
    
A young witch with short blonde hair poked her head around the curtain; Harry saw that she too was wearing magenta staff robes.   
    
"There's a customer out here looking for a joke cauldron, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley," she said.   
    
Harry found it very odd to hear Fred and George called "Mr. Weasley," but they took it in their stride.   
    
"Right you are, Verity, I'm coming," said George promptly. "Harry, you help yourself to anything you want, all right? No charge."   
    
"I can't do that!" said Harry, who had already pulled out his money bag to pay for the Decoy Detonators.   
    
"You don't pay here," said Fred firmly, waving away Harry's gold.   
    
"But—"   
    
"You gave us our start-up loan, we haven't forgotten," said George sternly "Take whatever you like, and just remember to tell people where you got it, if they ask."   
    
George swept off through the curtain to help with the customers, and Fred led Harry back into the main part of the shop to find Hermione and Ginny still poring over the Patented Daydream Charms.   
    
"Haven't you girls found our special WonderWitch products yet?" asked Fred. "Follow me, ladies. . . ."   
    
Near the window was an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls was giggling enthusiastically. Hermione and Ginny both hung back, looking wary.   
    
"There you go," said Fred proudly. "Best range of love potions you'll find anywhere."   
    
Ginny raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Do they work?" she asked.   
    
"Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question —"   
    
"— and the attractiveness of the girl," said George, reappearing suddenly at their side. "But we're not selling them to our sister," he added, becoming suddenly stern, "not when she's already got about five boys on the go from what we've —"   
    
"Whatever you've heard from Ron is a big fat lie," said Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. "What's this?"   
    
"Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher," said Fred. "Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don't change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?"   
    
"Yes, I am," said Ginny. "And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?"   
    
She was pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.   
    
"Pygmy Puffs," said George. "Miniature puffskeins, we can’t breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?"   
    
"I dumped him, he was a bad loser," said Ginny, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. "They're really cute!"   
    
"They're fairly cuddly, yes," conceded Fred. "But you're moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren't you?"   
    
Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. There was such a Mrs. Weasley-ish glare on her face that Harry was surprised Fred didn't recoil.   
    
"It's none of your business. And I'll thank you'' she added angrily to Ron, who had just appeared at George's elbow, laden with merchandise, "not to tell tales about me to these two!"   
    
"That's three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut," said Fred, examining the many boxes in Ron's arms. "Cough up."   
    
"I'm your brother!"   
    
"And that's our stuff you're nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I'll knock off the Knut."   
    
"But I haven't got three Galleons, nine Sickles!"   
    
"You'd better put it back then, and mind you put it on the right shelves."   
    
Ron dropped several boxes, swore, and made a rude hand gesture at Fred that was unfortunately spotted by Mrs. Weasley, who had chosen that moment to appear.   
    
"If I see you do that again I'll jinx your fingers together," she said sharply.   
    
While Ron was making a fuss, Harry went discreetly over to Ginny and pulled her aside.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” She whispered, holding onto him.

“What did it feel like… when you were being possessed?” Harry asked worriedly.

“Well, it was almost like a dream. I’d fall asleep, almost, and when I woke up I was somewhere completely different. Sometimes my dreams mimicked what was actually happening…I saw roosters’ feathers,” she swallowed, “and blood.”

Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny and pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay,” he murmured, and rested his head on her shoulder. When they broke apart, her eyes were a bit puffy but she was more composed. Harry took a breath, and decided to tell her.

“Gin, I think, err…I think I may be possessed.” He ran a hand through his hair, stressed. On Ginny’s behalf, she didn’t take a step back or look totally alarmed. Instead, she asked calmly, “Harry. What happened?”

“I was on the Hogwarts Express, in my fifth year. Suddenly the world turns purple and I’m here, in Madam Malkin’s.” He thought saying it out loud might make him feel better, but it only worsened his headache.

“I didn’t have the purple part,” Ginny bit her lip, “but that sounds remarkably similar. The only thing is, you acted completely normal last year. Well, no, not really. You did have these visions, where you’d black out randomly. I think somehow it was Voldemort’s fault, but Ron never told me.”

“Can you keep an eye on me, Gin?” Harry asked quietly. “I don’t know if it’s over or not, but if I do anything unusual, tell me, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ginny smiled, “Did you see the pygmy puffs? They’re so cute!”

Harry shook his head, and Ginny dragged him over to see the small furry creatures. The shop was fantastic. He couldn’t get over the range of the products for sale. There were expanding swamps, and things called “Extendable Ears” which let you eavesdrop on others’ conversations. Did they make all of these last year? And did Harry miss it?

And of course it had to be Voldemort. It was kind of boring, he had already done possession in second year. For once maybe he could try something original. Harry swallowed. He still couldn’t come to terms with Cedric’s… and a little voice in the back of his head cheekily added, ‘and Sirius!’

‘Oh, shush you,’ Harry told himself, and smacked the back of his head. They went home after Ginny convinced Mrs. Weasley to get her a pygmy puff with Harry’s help. She named him Hairy, and said is was a tribute to Harry since she couldn’t have convinced her mother otherwise. Harry blushed, and said that wasn’t Arnold a better name? but Ginny wasn’t having it, and as she left, she kissed the purple puff ball firmly, cooing, “Look, Hairy knows his Mummy!” Harry was disturbedly reminded of Hagrid.

The last week at the Burrow was unremarkable, and uneventful, if you didn’t count Ron and Hermione being on edge around him. Once or twice they mentioned a prophecy, and Dumbledore, but Harry didn’t remember so he didn’t say anything.

There was no cheerful Hagrid waiting for them at King's Cross Station. Instead, two grim-faced, bearded Aurors in dark Muggle suits moved forward the moment the cars stopped and, flanking the party, marched them into the station without speaking.

"Quick, quick, through the barrier," said Mrs. Weasley, who seemed a little flustered by this austere efficiency. "Harry had better go first, with Ginny.”

She looked inquiringly at one of the Aurors, who nodded briefly, seized Harry's and Ginny’s upper arms, and attempted to steer them toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

"I can walk, thanks," said Harry irritably, jerking his arm out of the Auror's grip. He pushed his trolley directly at the solid barrier, ignoring his silent companion, and found himself, a second later, standing on platform nine and three-quarters, where the scarlet Hogwarts Express stood belching steam over the crowd. Hermione and the Weasleys joined him within seconds. Without waiting to consult his grim-faced Auror, Harry motioned to Ron and Hermione to follow him up the platform, looking for an empty compartment.

"We can't, Harry," said Hermione, looking apologetic. "Ron and I've got to go to the prefects' carriage first and then patrol the corridors for a bit."

"Oh yeah, I forgot," said Harry.

"You'd better get straight on the train, all of you, you've only got a few minutes to go," said Mrs. Weasley, consulting her watch. "Well, have a lovely term, Ron. . . ."

Harry followed Ginny, but she said she had to meet Dean because she had promised him. Rolling his eyes, he found the only other unoccupied compartment: one with the familiar round face of Neville, and the face of a girl with long blond hair and large misty eyes. Luna, Harry remembered, the girl who had believed him in fourth year.

“Hello Harry, your wrackspurts are much larger this year,” she said cheerfully, "it's _quite_ unusual."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Thank you for reading <3


	13. Death is Imminent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a new chapter!  
> First year Harry in Fifth Year and possibly the most confused one yet. When we left them, Harry was confiding to Hermione and Ron as they rode on the Hogwarts Express.

“Wait, so _how_ old were you when you were going to Gringotts?” the girl-Hermione asked.

“Eleven,” Harry said, “But why am I on a train now?”

“This is,” the boy looked torn between laughter and frustration, “the Hogwarts Express.”

“Hogwarts!” Harry laughed, “So it really is real? I was almost convinced it was one big joke the Dursleys had set up to embarrass me.”

“You know what’s a joke, Potter?” A voice drawled from behind him. The owner of the voice was a tall skinny boy with slicked back blond hair and a smirk planted on his face. Behind of him were two more boys, one as chubby as Dudley, almost, and the other muscular and a bit scary.

“What?” he said aggressively, knowing the answer was something offensive Dudley had already used that “joke” a few too many times on Harry.

'Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention,' drawled the boy, whose sleek blond hair and pointed chin seemed to silently laugh at Harry who was helpless. 'You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.'

“Great,” Harry mumbled, “Do you want to sit here, or are you just looking to make some crude remarks?”

Malfoy's lip curled. “Potter, you wound me!” he fake swooned, “Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley?”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” said Hermione sharply.

“I seem to have touched a nerve,' said Malfoy, smirking. 'Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line.”  
      
“Get out”’ said Hermione, standing up.

Sniggering, Malfoy gave Harry a last malicious look and departed, with his two minions lumbering along in his wake. Hermione slammed the compartment door behind them and turned to look at Ron, trying to convey some message that flew over Harry’s head.

“Chuck me another Frog,” said Ron, who had clearly noticed nothing.

“We'd better change,” said Hermione at last, and all of them opened their trunks with difficulty and pulled on their school robes. She and Ron pinned their prefect badges carefully to their chests. Harry saw with surprise that older-him had several nicely fitting black robes. He checked out his reflection in the window and liked what he saw.

At last, the train began to slow down and they heard the racket up and down it as everybody scrambled to get their luggage and pets assembled, ready to get on. 

Hermione said nervously, “Ron, can you stay here with Harry? I can do the prefect stuff, I want to make sure he stays okay.”

“Aw, ‘Mione, they’ll kick me out if I don’t help you lead the first years. Oy!” The freckled boy spotted another boy outside their compartment, “Neville, can you stay with Harry?”

“Sure, any reason why?” The boy asked. Hermione reacted quickly, “He got hit by a bad stunner. Malfoy did it,” Malfoy was the blond git, Harry reminded himself. “It was real bad though,” Hermione kept talking, “he can _barely talk_.” She glared at him firmly.

“I’ll carry that owl, if you like,” said a blond hair girl who was quite beautiful to Harry, reaching out for Ron’s small owl as Neville stowed his toad carefully in an inside pocket.

“Oh - er - thanks,” said Harry, handing her the cage and hoisting a snowy owl Hermione had handed to him more securely into his arms.

They shuffled out of the compartment feeling the first sting of the night air on their faces as they joined the crowd in the corridor. Slowly, they moved towards the doors. Harry could smell the pine trees that lined the path heading down. He stepped down on to the platform and looked around, seeing in awe the platform surrounded by woods.

A brisk female one, was calling out, 'First-years line up over here, please! All first-years to me!' A lantern came swinging towards Harry and by its light he saw the prominent chin and severe haircut of the voice.

“Where's Hagrid?” Ron said out loud.

“I don't know,” said another girl, it was hard to keep track now. This one had long red hair and brown eyes, “but we'd better get out of the way, we're blocking the door.”

“Oh, yeah . . .”

He got separated from the ginger as the other boy-Neville- steered Harry off along the platform and out through the station. Jostled by the crowd, Harry squinted through the darkness for a glimpse of Ron and Hermione, but they were busy leading first years. _He_ should have been there, a first year getting their first glance of Hogwarts.

He walked along to a building that was in front of a hundred or so horseless stagecoaches. Harry glanced quickly at them, and turned away to keep a lookout for Ron and Hermione. 

“Where's Pig?” said Ron's voice, right behind Harry.

“Your owl? That blond haired girl was carrying him,” said Harry, turning quickly, eager to find the ginger boy again. Ron had seemed a bit uneasy, but still friendly.

“Wow, mate, that’s specific, ‘the blond haired girl’. Got to have handed him off to the first girl you meet, din’t you?” Ron rolled his eyes.  
   
A short distance away, Malfoy, followed by a small gang of cronies including the two gorillas from before, was pushing some timid-looking second-years out of the way so that he and his friends could get a coach to themselves. Seconds later, Hermione emerged panting from the crowd.

“Malfoy was being absolutely foul to a first-year back there. I swear I'm going to report him, he's only had his badge three minutes and he's using it to bully people worse than ever . . . where's Crookshanks?”

“The red-haired girl’s got him,” said Harry. 

“And the ‘blond hair girl’ has got Pig,” Ron grumbled.

“Look, there she is . . .” Harry said, and pointed to the girl who had just emerged from the crowd, clutching a squirming Crookshanks.  
      
“Thanks,” said Hermione, relieving the girl of the cat. “Come on, let's get a carriage together before they all fill up . . .”

“I haven't got Pig yet!' Ron complained, but Hermione was already heading off.    The blond girl appeared holding Pigwidgeon's cage in her arms; the tiny owl was twittering excitedly.

“Here you are,” she said. “He's a sweet little owl, isn't he?”

“Er . . . yeah . . . he's all right,” said Ron gruffly. “Well, come on then, let's get in . . .”

Harry, Ron, and the-blond-haired-girl made for the carriage in which Hermione and the-red-headed-girl were already sitting.

The blond hair girl’s eyes misted over as she looked towards the front of the carriage, but Harry didn’t know why, as there was nothing there.


End file.
